


Denude and Define

by scrapbullet



Series: The Witcher ficlets [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fill, Sleepy Kisses, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “You, sir, aredisgusting,” Jaskier declares, voice muffled as he pulls his chemise over his head, and promptly drops trou. Naked, he appraises Geralt from head to toe, admiring the play of candlelight over toned muscle - well, what he can see beneath the gore, anyway. “I can’t even see your handsome face underneath all that blood and bile.”“Hm.” Geralt cocks a brow, universally disbelieving.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626349
Comments: 10
Kudos: 395





	Denude and Define

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt - Messy, Validation. Many thanks to my darling Chris for throwing prompts at me when I whine at her, and for putting up with my rambles ;p

Luxury is hard-won on the road. A straw stuffed mattress and a bowl of luke warm water is akin to the sweetest wine after a week of walking, feet sore and rubbed raw, sweat and grime thick in dip at the small of Jaskier’s back. And as for a bath? _Oh, a bath_. A big wooden tub filled to the brim - big enough for two, even! - ghosting steam, and a selection of vials filled with bath salts and oils to soften the skin lined up in a neat row, just _begging_ to be used.

Melitele, it’s absolute _bliss_.

Geralt, as usual, says not a word but it’s all too clear by the ease in his rigid muscles that he’s looking forward to it. His vambraces are left to drop to the floor - still slick with a vile smelling bile that makes Jaskier’s nose twitch - quickly followed by the rest, boots thunking down with a decisive thud.

So, not only an exhausting hike but another contract. One that Jaskier had accompanied his dear Witcher on, of course, if only to document the escapade in song.

Thankfully, Jaskier had managed to stay clear of the, _ah_ , destruction. The only dirt on _his_ body is sweat from plodding alongside Geralt as he rode Roach, and from bedding down in the forest. 

Geralt hadn’t been quite so lucky.

“You, sir, are _disgusting_ ,” Jaskier declares, voice muffled as he pulls his chemise over his head, and promptly drops trou. Naked, he appraises Geralt from head to toe, admiring the play of candlelight over toned muscle - well, what he can see beneath the gore, anyway. “I can’t even see your handsome face underneath all that blood and bile.”

“Hm.” Geralt cocks a brow, universally disbelieving. 

“What, don’t tell me you don’t believe me?” Huffing, Jaskier climbs into the bath and scoots backward, leaving ample room for Geralt. _Ah_ , the temperature is just perfect! “I’m amazed you’re unaware of your own animal magnetism.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re aware of what comes out of your mouth,” Geralt remarks smartly, and Jaskier places a hand over his heart and gasps in faux indignation.

Not a single drop of water is displaced as Geralt sits down, more graceful than his big body belies. As soon as Geralt is settled Jaskier inches forward on his knees, straddles Geralt’s thick thighs, and dampens a cloth. “You love my mouth,” he says, pouring liquid soap to lather it up, dragging it over those lovely shoulders and lingering at the arc of throat. “And you love me on my knees. It’s a shame that you can’t appreciate my ballads as well, but I suppose I can’t win them all.”

Grasping Jaskier’s hip to steady him, Geralt tilts his head - all the better for Jaskier to scrub away dark blood and ichor. His lips twitch up into a smile, and his hands are quick and deft as they slide back, gleefully copping a feel of Jaskier’s arse. “I like your songs just fine, Jas. You’re right, though. I do prefer you on your knees.”

“Cheek,” Jaskier says coyly, “and there was me hoping to blow you before bed.” 

And yet, there’s no rush, not really. Jaskier far too focused on the task at hand - Geralt is a gorgeous beast of a man, after all, and Jaskier is all too happy to bathe him. Soaping Geralt up and rinsing him off is a pleasure, especially whilst sitting in his lap - to pay attention to much else, lost in the simplicity of it. 

And if he pauses every now and then to kiss and suck a bruise to Geralt’s chest, well, Geralt certainly doesn’t complain.

Soon, Geralt eases. He becomes soft and languid and doe-eyed under Jaskier’s nimble-fingered touch, and all the more affectionate for it, too. He kisses Jaskier soft and sweet, catching his tongue in a dance to leave them breathless and by the time they’ve gotten round to washing Jaskier the water has grown too cool to linger.

“To bed, then?” Jaskier asks, loose-limbed and relaxed. His body aches, but it is a good kind of ache, leaving him drowsy and nuzzling at Geralt’s throat. “The things I want to do to you…”

Here, pressed skin to skin, Geralt’s voice is a soothing rumble. He stands, lifting Jaskier into his arms as if he weighs nothing more than a feather. “The only thing you’ll be doing is sleeping.”

And then? Well, Jaskier succumbs to slumber, enwrapped in Geralt’s arms.


End file.
